I thought he was going to make a difference in peoples' lives.
My youngest son committed suicide in February 2009 while he was at college. He wanted to be a teacher and I couldn't wait for the time when he would make a difference in peoples' lives. He was just that kind of kid.
During the last year of his life, I'd call him and we'd talk for a few minutes and he'd say, "Gotta go, Mom." He was busy with school and work and I was just patiently waiting for this period of his life to pass, his wanting his independence, as it had with my other child. I looked forward to the years when he finally grew up and we would have an adult mother-son relationship, when I would watch him grow into a man and give of himself in his forever-present gentle and compassionate manner.
That will never happen. He is gone and my heart is broken. The emptiness, the sadness, the anguish, the despair I feel is all consuming. I am frustrated with the fact that no words can truly describe it. I want to oonvey a heart savagely ripped open, oozing with pain and yet sucking back in because I've always been told, "Where there's a will, there's a way." I have the will, but it doesn't matter - I can't change it. There will be no way.
And even though intellectually I know this, there's still that part of me that keeps searching, keeps questioning, keeps thinking, thinking, thinking, that I can fix this, I can do something. What can I do? What can I do? If I think long enough, if I think hard enough, if I write, write, write, the answer will come. My son is gone, but my will is not.
I want to go back and I can't go back. The "if onlys" abound. Yes, I know that is normal. But this is my son and this is my life and I don't care what is normal. I read and hear I will get better and I don't want to get better because I feel like the pain is all I have right now. It's the only thing that is real. I don't care about work or my house or anyone's petty problems. I simply don't care.
It's nearly impossible to talk to most family and friends because I am not interested in talking about what they want to talk about and they are not interested in talking about what I want to talk about. I want to talk about my son and many, many people won't even say his name. It's as if he never existed.
I am so sorry, my baby, that you had more pain than I ever knew. I am so sorry that I couldn't help you. I am so sorry that you saw no other solution. I am so sorry that your pain ran so deep that you couldn't ask for help. I am so sorry that we didn't know how ill you were.
I read that suicide is a selfish act and that causes me pain and anger, not because I think my son was selfish, but because I know now that he was very ill. He did not mean to be selfish. I know if he could have foreseen the pain he left behind, he would not have done it. I know his own pain blinded him to the consequences of his act. He was a kid - he did not know. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He only wanted his own pain to go away.
I am so sorry, my son, that I will never see the difference you'd make in peoples' lives and your joy in doing so. No matter what, I will always love you.
An Anonymous Mother